Always the Moirail, Never the Matesprit
by cynically quixotic
Summary: "He threw the bucket at his head. They're now married." In which John and Karkat's friends throw them a multicultural wedding. Crackfic written for the kink meme.


John is fairly certain that this is the biggest day of his thirteen-year-old life.

He's also quite certain that he'd be able to enjoy it better if Rose wasn't gleefully dissecting his every action, word and thought, breaking it down into a whirling pit of amateur psychoanalysis, only to re-emerge as an undeniable indicator of lifelong repressed homosexuality.

This is obviously preposterous, but nobody's letting him get a word in as Kanaya is busy making last-minute adjustments to his suit (he doesn't understand why they don't just alchemise one) and Vriska and Terezi are arguing over his head about how terrible his taste in trolls is.

They (namely, John, Rose, Dave and their patron trolls) have all gathered in Nepeta's old respiteblock, which means John can't even get a good look around for fear of getting even weirder ideas about his friends. He's uncomfortably aware that Rose is taking careful note of his obvious reluctance to look anywhere but his polished shoes (made from the hide of moobeasts, whatever those are).

As his best man, Dave is here officially for moral support, but John suspects he's got secret plans to hijack the sound system at the reception (which hopefully will include that sopor slime and mind honey he's been hearing so much about. It's better to be culturally open-minded, after all, especially when you're marrying outside of the species). He's leaning against the wall, looking unfathomable and ironic like a coolkid should, and Terezi is under solemn oath not to lick his bright red suit until after the ceremony.

John wishes he could see Jade; her company is a lot less unnerving than Rose's or Dave's or even Vriska's, and he could use a healthy dose of _normal_ weirdness right about now. But his ectobiological sister is holed up in Sollux's respiteblock instead, helping to dress (read: put up with the rants of) the bride/other groom/pailmate/whatever they are. John still isn't too clear on this point; the earliest he can remember of this arrangement is that it all began when he'd thrown that bucket at Karkat's head, effectively claiming him as his own. For his part, Karkat hadn't put up much of a resistance, mostly because his jaw had been dislocated (either from the shock or the impact of the bucket), only to be located later somewhere in the vicinity of his collarbones.

* * *

><p>John and Karkat are standing at a makeshift altar in the recreation block, Karkat carrying a pail filled with flowers at Jade's (very forceful) insistence. Rose, Vriska and Dave are sitting in the human-groom's section, Terezi and Sollux are seated in the troll-groom's section, and Jade has been placed in the middle. The other trolls have assembled around the room as they please, all except Gamzee, who is reading from one of Rose's pink notebooks and has been draped with a rich indigo bed sheet for the occasion.<p>

"Dear motherfuckin' beloved, we are gathered here today in the recreation block of this crapsack asteroid spiralling in space towards the Green fucking Sun, to celebrate the recognised matespritship of my motherfucking best friend and the windy human John Egbert in a human ceremony of mirthful matrimony. Can I get an amen?"

The trolls cheer loudly, clearly believing that this is an entirely ordinary opening statement at human weddings. Jade joins them in a high state of giggle. Dave silently nods approval. John, who knows that Rose has assisted Gamzee in writing his speech, makes a strangled, frustrated noise with which shotgun grooms are universally well-acquainted.

Rose leans across in her chair. "I take it that trolls do not have public ceremonies to showcase their union?" She inquires in a stage whisper. Kanaya shrugs.

"Only the seatrolls tend to engage in lavish public spectacles, and even then Her Imperious Condescension was said to keep her quadrants strictly private."

Gamzee continues valiantly with the speech Rose has prepared for him, with only a few deviations from the original script. "We all remember the day Karkat Vantas laid eyes on John Egbert for the first fucking time. He watched him, watched him sleep, watched him eat, watched him grow, from a pink, fleshy grub into a pink, fleshy six-sweep-old - six sweeps of footage compressed into six hours viewing time, and ain't that just motherfuckin' miracles right there?"

"SHUT YOUR SLIME-SLURPING PIEHOLE!" Karkat squawks indignantly, having recently learnt the word 'piehole' from Jade and deemed it highly appropriate. Terezi, one of his groomswomen, shushes him, cackling with inappropriate glee.

Vriska, as the human-groomswoman, bursts into ostentatious cerulean tears, sobbing far louder than necessary about how pitiful the sort-of happy couple's tumultuous courtship is. John just looks faintly disturbed.

Gamzee smiles placidly at his irate moirail. "I know you're all excited, best friend. Don't you worry about a motherfucking thing; I'm just getting to the good part." Karkat performs legendary feats in the way of obscene finger-contortionism in place of verbal response, but subsides into a muted grumbling.

Gamzee clears his throat impressively. "Do you, best friend, take the windy human to be your matesprit, to have and to hold, to use and abuse - shit, wait, that's for kismesissitude - to snuggle with while watching fucking shitty movies, to fill your pails with, as well as that one bitchtits important quadrant, as long as you both shall not die?"

Most of the assembly would expect their leader to respond in his usual crass manner; they are taken by surprise when he says quietly, without a hint of vitriol, "I do."

"And do you, Johnnie boy, take our bestfriendleader to be your matesprit, to annoy and amuse, to make fuckin' weird human treats with that you'll end up throwing at each other anyway, to enact his favourite cheesy rom-coms with, and have sloppy makeouts under the motherfucking stars he made for you?"

John has a lot of opinions on this statement, not least of which is that the term _sloppy makeouts_ has a certain ring to it. "I do."

Vriska chokes obnoxiously loudly into a handkerchief Kanaya has grudgingly provided, and only stops when Terezi thumps her forcefully on the back, threatening to make her choke on the handkerchief.

"Then by the bitchtits awesome power invested in me by Rosie over there, I declare you two matesprits. You may now fill a pail." Equius gently claps his hands over Nepeta's ears.

* * *

><p>The reception takes place in the food preparation block. Kanaya and Nepeta have outdone themselves with lavish decorations, and as John has previously suspected, Dave has taken control over the sound system and has made an eager Tavros his pupil in the way of ill rhythms and unmannerly rhymes.<p>

Unfortunately for the newlyweds, they do not have the opportunity to spend quality sloppy makeout times together after the ceremony, as our hero has been taken captive.

"So, John!" Vriska's eyes possess a diabolical gleam. All eight of them. "Are you prepared for _tonight_?"

"I haven't really thought about it," John says nervously, which is true enough. Vriska slings an arm around his shoulder, shaking her head with platonic pity. John considers it a mark of how strange his life has become that he actually has to differentiate.

"You're my friend and have the good taste to like Nic Cage, even though you have the godawful taste to marry Karkat," she grins conspiratorially, razor-sharp. "So I'll let you in on a little secret." Vriska produces a spiral-bound notebook from the bodice of her dress. It is difficult to tell whether all the glitter spilling from within is her doing or the dress's.

"_Vriska's Sexy Sex Tips for Having Sexy Sex_," John reads aloud. He flips through the first couple of pages, and is rewarded for his diligence with a shower of glittering sexiness bestowed upon his suit. Or maybe just glitter. Across the room, Kanaya nearly experiences vascular system failure.

It is at this moment that Terezi is the first to realise what is happening. She would recognise that cloying, suffocating taste of cheap glitter and impudent defamation anywhere. Something must be done, and quickly.

Feferi steps up to the metaphorical plate. "Gamzee, don't you think it's time for _that_ now?" Gamzee blinks down at the tiny heiress, a slow smile spreading. "You're motherfuckin' right, sis." He locates his moirail with the practiced ease of all tall people who have spent their lives in a crowd looking for short ones.

"Best friend. I need you to get John. And then you need to stand over there." Gamzee indicates a cleared area near the refrigeration unit, where an immense horn pile awaits. Karkat eyes him warily.

"Gamzee, what are you planning?"

"Human traditions, best friend. Can't have a wedding without one... or two... or maybe twelve."

Karkat thinks this sound vaguely ominous, but moves to comply anyway. He rescues his matesprit from the glitterstorm which is making him sneeze, and they clamber to stand at the top of the horn pile. As it turns out, there is no better way to get the attention of an entire wedding reception.

_honk. Honk. HONK._

"Watch where you're stepping," Karkat hisses, as they balance precariously at the peak. He is still clutching his bucket awkwardly, although Kanaya and Jade have cleverly disguised it under the mammoth floral arrangements.

"What now?" Terezi asks. Gamzee consults Rose's notebook.

"Now they have to turn around, and every other motherfucker has to stand in a group at this end." The assembly shifts accordingly.

"And now?" Karkat demands, uncomfortable with the scrutiny doubtless going on behind their backs.

"And now, best friend," Gamzee looks pleased with his instructions. "You throw the bouquet."

John bursts into surprised laughter. Karkat snarls at him half-heartedly, glad to be rid of the pail. He lifts his hands and lets fly.

The couple immediately turns the moment the bucket-bouquet is safely out of reach, only to witness the scuffle among their guests as everyone asks the time-honoured question, "Did you get it?", and faces fall in disappointment as the question is answered in the negative.

Eridan looks utterly stunned.

The crowd takes one step back, then several more for good measure.

Gamzee surveys the seatroll clutching the slightly dented bucket. "Well now, ain't that just a motherfucking miracle?" He considers this observation. "And according to human tradition, the one who catches the bouquet will be the next to be married."

There is a collective intake of breath. The Prince of Hope looks _hopeful_, which is never a good sign. By common consensus, only a maiden sacrifice can end the horror.

The room is silent for a minute. Then Vriska sneezes.

_Good enough._

The food preparation block is quickly vacated, except for two.

And so Vriska Serket clocked Eridan Ampora for waggling his eyebrows at her.

The End.


End file.
